Hard-Hearted
by Faristian
Summary: Rick decides to finally do something about Morty's bullying problem.
_**Summary: Rick decides to finally do something about Morty's bullying problem.**_

 **A\N: There wasn't enough Rick/Morty fluff, so I decided to write some. I'm such a sucker for this shit, lmao.**

 **AU...ish? I guess this ignores the fact Rick froze the guy bullying Morty in the pilot. That's pretty much it. Just pretend that never happened.**

* * *

Morty groaned loudly when his alarm went off at precisely six o'clock AM. He slammed the machine off, burying his face into his pillow and feeling his eyes burn from both frustration and tiredness. It seemed like he could never get enough sleep anymore, as his grandfather, Rick, continuously woke him up in the dead of night to drag him along on adventures, leaving him with only one to three hours of actual rest.

"Fuck this," he muttered under his breath, pushing himself up and climbing out of his comfortable sheets. He stripped himself of his sweaty pajamas and threw on a yellow t-shirt and jeans, sighing as he headed downstairs to grab some breakfast.

His mother, Beth, was making coffee in the kitchen, his dad probably still asleep. "Good morning," she said sweetly, and Morty only grunted a 'mhm' in response. "Your father is feeling sick, so I'll drive you and your sister to school."

"Okay," Morty acknowledged, glancing tiredly at Summer trotting down the stairs. He grabbed an apple and began eating it boredly, still feeling like he was going to collapse from fatigue any second.

He flinched when Beth put a hand on his forehead and lifted his gaze to hers. "Are you feeling okay?" she asked, and Morty blinked. "You look exhausted."

Summer snorted from the kitchen entranceway, pouring herself a glass of orange juice. "Grandpa Rick probably had him running around all night again." Morty glared at her, but he pushed his mother's hands off his face and shook his head.

"I'm fine, Mom. Let's just go."

Beth only seemed to get more worried. "Were you out with Rick all night?" she questioned, placing her hands on her son's shoulders and sighing. "I told him to stop keeping you up," she continued, her tone filled with disappointment and slight remorse.

"Mom, it's fine, it wasn't him," Morty lied, once again brushing her off his body. "I just had a hard time falling asleep."

Beth didn't seem convinced, but she sighed and nodded. "Alright, Morty, you two finish getting ready and let's go."

* * *

Morty never liked school. He had a hard time keeping up with the workloads, and it was always a struggle to keep his grades passing due to his apparent learning disability. He appreciated Rick pulling him out early on occasion to go on missions because of his distaste for the place, but he also knew that if he kept missing class he was going to fail, and he had a hard enough time with his grades already.

Bullies were just another spike in the road.

Morty had been bullied since school began. Because of his size, disability, and awkwardness, he was a target for tormentors by default. He was incapable of defending himself, although he never truly tried, and typically suffered from black eyes and bruises that he made excuses for at home. Some of his favorites were, _I tripped and hit my eye on the side of a desk, I fell during gym,_ or _I wasn't paying attention and slammed my shoulder on my locker_. Truthfully, he didn't want to admit he was too weak to stop the bullying, and he didn't want to tell an adult he was dealing with it in the first place.

He cringed when the back of his head was pressed against the cold metal of his locker—not too gently, either. He grimaced thinking about the bump that was sure to appear later.

"There's no place in the world for a dumbass kid like you," the teenager hassling him spat, drawing out the word 'you' like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "And to think!" he continued, grinning like a sadist. "You believe a girl like _Jessica_ is gonna kneel down and suck your puny dick?"

Morty shrank back, biting his lip, unsure of how to respond.

"Yeah, didn't think so, you little bitch."

That was the last thing Morty heard before pain exploded across his face.

* * *

"Can you pass me that-euugh-that screwdriver, Morty?"

"S-sure thing, Rick."

Morty shifted uncomfortably where he stood, watching his grandfather piece together some sort of device. He held an ice pack over his left eye, which had been blackened by contact with a fist. His cheek was also bruised from a harsh slap, which was not aided when Morty tumbled to the hard, marble floor. Luckily, after using one of his infamous excuses, Morty was certain he wasn't under suspicion by his parents and older sister.

Rick, on the other hand, was harder to convince. The man doubted Morty was dumb enough to topple over this often, especially since he came home looking beat-up almost once or twice a week. Rick was beginning to suspect Morty was getting involved in some sort of roughhousing at school, but he didn't exactly put this thought into words.

That is, until today.

"Y-you know, Morty . . ." Rick started, lowering his project and turning to face his grandson. "You can al-always be honest with me. Your old grandpa's n-urrp-not gonna judge you or nothing."

Morty looked uncomfortable. "Y-yeah? Nice to—nice to know."

"A-a-and if you need help with anything, I'm here."

Morty looked everywhere but Rick. "Yeah, okay," he said, a bit of annoyance lingering on his tone. "J-jeez Rick, what's with the sudden openness? I'm fine!"

Rick shrugged. "You know, just making sure you understood that."

"Okay, thanks . . ."

". . . And I also-urrp-also wanna m-make sure you know that honesty is—it's actually pretty important, Morty. Bullying i-is a pretty big goddamn deal."

Morty's heart stopped. "Rick," he managed to squeak out, feeling sweat beginning to form on his hands.

Rick stood up, moving in front of his grandson and crossing his arms. "Y-you think I'm an idiot, Morty? You don't just—just come home with a fucking black eye for the—like the twentieth time and say, 'Aw shit, I got h-hit in the face with a-urph-a kickball again!' I'm not stupid, I-I know you've been getting into something, Morty."

"Rick," Morty said again, shaking his head. "P-please don't get involved." It wasn't that he didn't trust Rick, it was just that the older man had a tendency to . . . get violent. After all he had been through, he no longer yielded to ethics, and would not hesitate to play rough or even _shoot_ someone, and that's what Morty was worried about. Even if one of his parents handled the situation by informing the principal, the bullying wouldn't stop there—it would probably get even worse.

"I-I'm not gonna let you just stand there and take it, Morty," Rick informed, kneeling down to eye-level with the boy and taking his shoulders. "Y-you know, one-urrp-of these days you're—you're gonna get real hurt and I-I won't be able to take you on any more adventures for a while."

Morty looked slightly offended. "Th-that won't happen. What, y-y-you think I can't defend myself?"

"Obviously you can't."

Morty sighed. "Sh-shut up, Rick. Just . . . just let me handle it."

Rick gave him a scolding glare, but Morty brushed him off and began his walk back upstairs. He heard Rick call his name again, but Morty ignored him.

* * *

Morty trudged into the boys' locker room, sweating and breathing heavily. His class had participated in a mandatory game of basketball, a sport Morty usually had difficulty with and tired him out profusely. His male classmates were rough and competitive, leaving Morty staggering for an opportunity to snag the ball and score. He was lucky enough to get the ball a few times, but due to his anxiety he wasn't able to deal with the pressure of his team, and he was never able to shoot the ball in.

He huffed out in irritation, stripping off his gym clothes, which were sticky and gross with sweat. "Damn sports," he mumbled, taking a swig from his water bottle and pouring some over his head to cool himself off.

He glanced up when the door slammed, stiffening when he saw the boy who had hurt him yesterday walk in with two others. Morty pulled on his regular clothing quickly, grabbing his bag and shutting his locker, ready to leave the room as soon as possible.

. . . If only he wasn't so obvious.

"Hey, look who it is!" the boy said loudly, and Morty took a step back, gritting his teeth. "Nice job on the court today, huh Morty?"

"Fuck you," Morty mumbled, his brows furrowed.

"The hell did you say?" another boy growled, stepping forward and giving Morty a shove into the wall, earning a grunt from him. "You think you're tough, you little shit?"

The third boy snorted, walking over and throwing a solid fist to Morty's chest. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and the boy grinned in satisfaction when the 14-year-old tumbled to the ground, crying out in pain. "What a pussy," he insulted, giving Morty's backside a rough kick.

Morty curled into himself and tried not to embarrass himself by crying.

Another kick to his stomach and Morty was sent into a coughing fit.

"M-morty, come on-urrrrp-we—we really gotta go—"

Morty's eyes snapped open and the other boys' heads jerked behind them. A green portal was lingering on the far wall, Rick standing in front of it looking _pissed._

"G-g-get your motherfucking hands off my grandson," Rick warned, taking a freeze gun out of his lab coat. Morty coughed and crawled to his knees, but a swift kick sent him back down to the floor.

"What're you gonna do?" the first bully questioned, trying to sound intimating. "Y-you're just some stupid old man!"

Rick took aim and fired. The boy was covered in a layer of ice, keeping him frozen where he stood. The others panicked and quickly made a beeline for the door, Rick shouting threats at them as they ran.

"Th-that's what I thought, little fuckers! Euugh—you touch Morty, you get a p-piece of this! Fuck off!"

Morty's eyes shook and he once again pulled himself to his knees. His body trembled, his eyes burned . . .

He started crying.

Rick stared at him in shock, putting away his gun and walking over to his grandson. "Morty," he said comfortingly, ruffling Morty's hair affectionately. "I-I know you said not to get involved, but they—they were hurting you, Morty. Wh-wh-why would I let that happen in front of me if I could stop it, huh, Morty?"

Hearing no coherent response, Rick sighed, helped Morty to his feet, and guided him toward the portal. "L-let's just go home, Morty," he said, stepping through as well—but quickly firing another gun at the frozen bully before the portal closed to unfreeze him by request of Morty. (If it were up to him, the asshole would be smashed.)

Back in the garage, Rick knelt down in front of Morty, sighing. "Lemme see what they did to you," he ordered, ignoring Morty's embarrassed protests when Rick lifted up his shirt and rubbed around his stomach. "They left a-urrp-a bruise," Rick informed, pulling down the teenager's shirt and standing up.

"Th-they kicked me in the ass," Morty mumbled, and Rick would have snorted if he wasn't currently so upset.

"If they ever do that again . . ." Rick began, narrowing his eyes and sending the boy a warning glare, ". . . You _tell_ me."

Morty's eyes trailed to the floor, but he nodded. "O-okay Rick." He voice was shaky as tears were still falling down his face, but he tried to keep his voice stable.

"I-I care about you, Morty. I-euugh-I love you. You're the be-best grandson anyone could ever ask for. Y-you need to tell me when you're being hurt."

Upon hearing this, Morty looked up at his grandfather, eyes still watery and his face wetted by his tears. "Th-thanks Rick," he said. "I . . . I love you, too. I'll tell you from now on, I promise."

Rick grinned and opened up his arms. "C'mere, baby," he welcomed, and pulled Morty into a tight embrace. "If anyone-urrgh-anyone hurts you, y-you can tell 'em y-your 'ol grandpa Rick will—will blow 'em to bits, Morty. Y-you tell 'em no one's gonna mess with my Morty as long as I'm—as long as I'm around, kid."

Morty gave a teary smile when Rick lifted him off the ground and wrapped his legs around his grandfather's waist and his arms around Rick's neck. He shook from his sobbing, but he never felt more at peace. Morty buried his face into Rick's hair and relaxed in the scent of alcohol and metal—smells that usually had him snapping at the scientist to take a shower. But now, it smelled wonderful. It smelled like Rick.

It smelled like a man who cared.


End file.
